


Little bitter, little sweet

by tibrstar



Category: American Gods
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibrstar/pseuds/tibrstar
Summary: There is so little Czernobog fic out there and that’s just... listen, I got a type, so this is something that was inspired by a cool dream or w/e.





	1. Chapter 1

    My father was displeased with the way I conducted myself in mortal school and called me home. What did it matter what the mortals thought of me? I was far older than they could ever hope of becoming, still more powerful than their nuclear weapons, and the flow of my worship was unending. The gods of the insane didn’t need the mortals damned approval, but my father didn’t care for that philosophy either. He had wanted me to learn about humans as they are now versus then, and instead I’d played pranks, and cracked sanity with the ease of eggs into a heated skillet to scramble them.

    So instead I had tutors, Thoth, Athena and Minerva caught in the same body forever driven to arguments within her own duality, Odin with his wicked tongue, and Anansi. But there was one who visited that I became fond of despite my father’s disapproval. He came with the Gamayun perched on his forearm, fingers curled into a massive fist as the minor goddess’ claws broke the skin. The smell on his skin was old blood, charred ashes, and tar, a sharp scent that made my nose burn when he stood too close. 

    This meant while I was supposed to be studying I was instead daydreaming about the Slavic god who seemed to find everything so disappointing. I wanted to skim my fingers along the deep lines beside his mouth, lick the old blood I could see trapped in the bed of his nails. I wanted to know what it would be like to make him smile. But even among gods it was hard to find someone that could keep up with the physical changes my body went through. 

    For a while I would be a beautiful, curvaceous young girl. Skin a rich russet brown, with dark hair and mischievous brown eyes. But given my mood that could change to a tall mahogany skinned man with scars along my body for each wrong done against me, eyes a hard grey like flint, and wild untamed curls that were as coarse as the brush I’d played amongst as a child. Or an old creature, wrinkled, and very tired as I sat curled in my seat, hands hanging as I leaned over my own legs trying to remember one good thing that had happened. Or a small child bubbling with laughter, eyes an impossible swirl of colours with hair that flowed behind me as I screeched dancing to music no one could hear, my skin a patchwork of skin tones. 

    Or anything in between, I am a gods of chaos, my shape lasts only so long as my mood can hold to one emotion. My children, the deranged, the lost, the mad, feed me well and I am ever full of their ramblings in my head. The only time it was quiet in my head was while cavorting with the Ghede Loa, their drink and smoke could quiet my mind for short periods but never long.

“You are young today.’

    I look up from my paper, the end of my pen still tucked in my mouth as I try to answer the riddles Anansi has left for me. 

“I am.’ A smile curls my lips, staring up at the Slavic god who eyes me curiously. 

“Is good? What mood is this?’

“Studious.’ I reply after a long pause, already I can feel things shifting, sliding, dropping my eyes back to my paper to stop it. “My Uncle Anansi gave me riddles and I’m trying to puzzle them out.’

“He likes his riddles and stories.’ 

    The acrid smell of sweat, and the muted one of old blood fill my nose as he pulls a chair out to turn it and fall into the seat. He liked to sit in his chairs backwards, resting his arms along the back, fingers tapping against his forearm. I can see the gritty texture of blood on his fingers, the shaft of his hammer visible where it leans against his hip. 

“What is riddle? I am not the most clever but maybe I could help.’

“A man is alone in an inn,’ I read, why not ask for assistance? Anansi only said I had to find the answers, he did not say it had to be done by myself. “And another man knocks on the door. When the first man opens the door, the second apologizes and turns to leave saying that he thought the room was his. After closing and locking the door, the first man holds tight to him his spear and does not sleep. Why is he so suspicious of a mistaken man?’

    It is a good riddle, but there’s not enough description of either man to figure out why the first man was so spooked. Was it because the second was a copy of himself? Or perhaps the man at the door was one that the first was running from but the second did not recognize him right away. Or perhaps-

“Why would you knock on your own door?’ My musings come to an abrupt stop, cat green eyes lifting to stare at the Slavic deity who is in turn scowling at my paper as if he can see the two men. “I would not have grabbed spear, or hidden in room like coward. I would have slammed my hammer down into his skull and burst it.’

“I… I think you’re right. Why would one knock on their own door, even in error.’ I feel foolish for overthinking, and a fizzle of annoyance at my uncle for the riddle meant to make me overthink the answer. “Thank you.’

“Glad to help.’

    His hands pat the pockets on his pants, pulling out a soft pack of cigarettes that looks as though it has been wrung like a wet cloth. But when he pulls out a cigarette it is unbroken, only bent and crooked, sticking it into between his lips. Father does not like smoking in our home, it reminds him of the villages burned, our worshippers forced to flee like prey from the hungry bite of fire. But I’m not going to stop him, watching as he pulls out a lighter and takes a long slow drag that creeps back out over his lips. 

“A woman is trapped in a room, there are only two doors. Through one door the room is a giant magnifying glass, it will fry anything that wanders through it. Through the other are starving lions who snarl and claw at the door. The room the woman is in is empty, how does the woman escape?’

    This is an easy one, and I smile as I draw the moon as the answer, shifting from empty to full and back again, beneath that I draw the woman dancing. The chair creaks as Chernobog leans closer, rising slightly to stare down at my answer. 

“What is that?’

“The moon.’ My pen is dipped back into the inkwell, giving the woman’s body more details, the desert sands beneath her feet and the small flora that survives in the climate. “She cannot tame the lions, their hunger rules them, but if she waits until dark, when the sun’s kinder sibling shows its face, the room will not burn her.’

    Pleased with my work, I hold the paper up for him to see, the woman on the page seems to move, swaying. When he leans in closer, the page blackens with the heat from the end of his cigarette but not enough to burn. 

“It looks like you yesterday, but not today.’

“Does it?’

    I pull the paper back to myself, staring down at the picture more closely. He’s right, I remember those cheekbones, the way the fingers flexed. I remembered the feel of my ribs just under my skin, and the hard nub of my hips. I remembered feeling very alone, starved for contact with anyone else.

“Was I prettier yesterday or today?’

“You are you.’

    That doesn’t really answer my question, watching him take the page, staring down at my drawing intently. When he finally puts the paper down again he rubs his eyes, ash falling from his cigarette at the movement. I can see that he’s wondering if the woman is actually moving, or if he’s just seeing things. It is a gift of mine, a trick I play that delights my Uncle Anansi who himself is also a trickster. 

“So no prettier but no uglier.’

“Yes. Different but it changes nothing.’ 

    There is no ashtray, so when he finishes his cigarette, he licks his palm and grinds the ember against it. Curious, I reach across the small table to pull his hand towards me. The burn is not deep, at least not as deep as it should be, my fingers dancing along callouses. These are from his hammer, and the tinge of red in the cracks is the blood that ran down it. When I half crawl onto the table, leaning my head down, he doesn’t move. Even when I run the tip of my tongue along the deepest line, the most I receive is an amused rumble. 

“What is next riddle?’

    It doesn’t hurt my feelings, or concern me. Though I am pleased that he does not take offense to my impulsive behaviour, sliding back into my chair. We will be friends, I decide, flattening out my paper as I read out the next riddle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods is used because they don’t really have a gender. There is no name for them because insane people don’t really look for anything else other than something to cling to.


	2. Chapter 2

“I prefer this smile.’ His thumb brushes my lower lip, face half obscured by the smoke he blows out through his nose. “Is good smile, sweet and dark. Like good coffee.’

    He lightly pinches my lower lip, leaning down when I slowly bite down on the tip of his thumb. For a moment I can feel his teeth nipping at my nose, tearing the cartilage, but the feeling is gone and he’s simply close. Very close, my mouth opening slowly as I stare into the dark irises meeting mine. I think, if he wanted to, he could hurt me badly. Very badly in a way that would leave a mark behind that not even Sekhmet could stop from forming. I may even have a limp in one of my limbs. 

“I also like the eyes, they are blue but not like daytime. They are nighttime eyes, I think I like them best also.’

“Then when you come I will wear them because of you.’

    Smoke blows into my face as he chuckles, the ember moving close to my skin as it bounces. He doesn’t pull away, and I don’t move as his hand lifts to press against my cheek, thumb slowly digging into grind against the bone. 

“You are also sweet, though not as dark as coffee today.’

“I was not feeling dark when I woke this morning.’ I offer as an explanation.

    But the skin under his hand darkens, slowly spreading across my face, down my neck as his hand moves lower. I let him paint me with a rich darkness that has highlights to match the blue of my eyes. 

“You do not have to change for me.’

“No, I don’t.’

    As his fingers skim along my skin, the darkness seems to drip from his fingers as if they are paint brushes. When they dip between the full breasts held tight to my chest by the wrap I wear, a smile curls my lips.

“But we are friends, and you like that I can be dark. So I will be dark for you.’

“Is good.’

    He grinds the cigarette out on the skull I received as a present from Maman Brigitte with his other hand. His breath is stale. Old vodka, and even a hint of the pierogi that he had for lunch from the bits of meat stuck in his teeth. Teeth which are bared in a smile among the beard that he grew wild until one of his sisters trimmed it for him. 

“Mhmm.’

“What are you doing?!’

    My eyes roll to find my father in the doorway to the hall, and though I don’t move, Czernobog pulls his hand away, slowly straightening. Today I am short, but tomorrow I think I may be tall. It’s fun to be able to meet his eyes without either of us having to make concessions. Or maybe taller to crowd him against the wall and give him a reason to lash out. I can taste the violence shimmering beneath his skin. 

“Now!’

    Taking a step back, I give a little bow, and when I straighten again the darkness had faded. My mood was too light for dark skin, spinning on my toes, I slipped towards my father with a smile on my face despite the thunderous scowl on his. 

“This is highly improper… our people-’

“Did not care for the cold north, the Slavics are one of the few pantheons that we don’t need to distrust just because their skin is lighter than our own.’

“It is not their skin!’

    My eyes roll, feeling the phantom pass of stinging rain sizzle against my skin as I got nearer to him. The smile slips ever so slightly as I can hear thunder like war drums, he is very angry, actually angry and I’m surprised. Though his voice is quiet, it feels loud as the rich tone thrums out of his deep chest. 

“I like him, father. I cannot unlike him.’

“Try.’

    I’m silent as he glares at me, feeling my form shift to something younger, smaller, and his expression softens ever so slightly at the edges when I give a nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy people have crazy theories. But in all honesty daddio’s problem is not skin color he just dislikes Czernobog on a deep down in the soul kind of level


	3. Chapter 3

    There is a meeting, and attendance is required. AllFather is selling war again and I’m not sure if I am for or against it. War is a good time for some, myself included as mortals tend to go mad with grief, rage, loss… It is not his loud proclamations and promises that are swaying me, it’s the promise of fresh insanity to wash over me again. 

    No one so much as glances my way when I suddenly stand from my seat at my father’s side. It is not unusual for me to need to move, sliding my body onto the table and crawling across it as muscles shift, bones grind as the sinews tighten. My body is cadaverous with hunger as I slink over the table, slowly slipping off the other side with a crackle in my body like dry paper. The idea of so many I haven’t fed on makes me weak with hunger, my body thinning to match it as my eyes darken to black pools.

    A long fingered hand comes into my line of sight, tunnel vision as I follow it up to wrist, forearm, my hand lifting to skim over the leather thongs wrapped around dark wrists, up to brush over the spider tattoo on my uncle’s forearm.

“Come here, little one…’ he croons softly, easily pulling me up from the floor, an arm wrapping around my waist as I nuzzle against his throat. “Hush now.’

    My uncle has a specific taste to his madness, but it’s not as filling as a mortals. I can hear the AllFather using the way I look to feed the others to frenzy. Their attention smooths over my skin like the strokes of hands, some of them cool and smooth, others rough and catching, and my body shifts again, filling until the arm wrapped around my waist feels too tight and Anansi has to loosen his grip as I pull away. 

    When the AllFather’s staff hits the ground my body jerks, my eyes open but unseeing as the sound of his voice rising and falling begins to sound like nothing more than than the hum of old songs. It reminds me of the celebrations we had before humans began to forget the fear of the dark. I don’t remember starting to dance, but I am and I feel my uncle join me laughing at my antics. 

    At some point the meeting has concluded, the two of us spinning as our torso’s dip, feet stomping against the ground. I can see his other legs sprouting like dark shadows to crown his head, and I tell him he’s beautiful in a hushed whisper. First in our native tongue, and then the new tongue we’ve all learned as our followers adapt. As we adapt.

    There are those who mutter that I should not be allowed at these meetings as they leave. But I don’t hear them as our dancing slows, finally coming to a stop chest heaving as I catch my breath. My own heartbeat is the drum loud in my ears, smiling brightly at the AllFather who stops near me to thank me for my unexpected performance.  

“We do not dance like that.’

“No one does, Czernobog.’ I hear Odin say before I have a chance to speak.

“I would like to learn your dance.’

    The words are panted, Anansi giving me a curious look before shrugging his shoulders now draped in tailored fabric. Turning I find Czernobog standing in front of the couch he’d sat all meeting, where he’d remained silent. 

“Perhaps another time.’

    A welling of disappoint fills my chest, but I nod. A dance should not be forced, it ruins the rhythm, the joy of it like dust on the tongue when you’d expected water. But my uncle’s arm is around my shoulder, asking if I’d like a story and I immediately agree. At this point I feel as if I know all of his stories but somehow he manages to weave another as he guides me towards the door where my father is waiting. 

    Behind us I can hear The Crooked One teasing Czernobog about being too old to enjoy anything anymore, but I can’t catch his reply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of this will be more focused on their relationship with other gods because I like the idea. I especially enjoy Anansi and have since I was very small.


	4. Chapter 4

    I have never seen snow outside photographs in pictures, it’s a curious thing. Reaching out my fingers graze along Czernobog’s shoulder where the fur of his collar still holds bits of the white stuff. In doing so a flake lands on the back of my own hand, I watch it melt to a more familiar droplet that rolls along my tendons to my wrist. Head falling back, I stare wide eyed at the flakes that dance through the air. 

    Behind me I can hear my uncle Anansi muttering curses beneath his breath, about the snow, the wind, the cold. I can feel all of that, but I’m too excited, stretched long and thin, my hands reaching upwards. I watch the coral pink of my nails begin to turn lilac, my slender body shivering as it tries to warm itself. And still I reach, beginning to spin as I laugh. It is worth the cold to dance like this, my world suddenly tilting as my foot slips on a patch of ice. 

    The scent of stale sweat is in my nose, old cigarettes, older blood, and I’m suddenly very warm. My fingers are clinging to hard muscle that flexes beneath them as my feet attempt to scramble for purchase. When I have my feet beneath me again I don’t pull away, and the arm around my middle has not moved. 

“You have no coat?’

“I didn’t know about snow.’ My Uncle laughs as I shrug, holding out my hands that bear half coral, half lilac nails. It’s an intriguing color combination. “I’ve read but I’ve never been this far north, my father prefers the warmer climates.’

“This is not north.’ My head tilts back, it rests on his shoulder, I am very tall today compared to most others. My eyes follow his hand as it plucks the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it away. “This is only springtime weather.’

    Compared to where he’s from, and I shiver at the idea of it getting colder. The arm around my middle tightens, his shoulders rolling before he lets go to remove his coat. Hanging it on my shoulders, I slip my arms through the sleeves as I turn and close it tight around me as he fixes the collar around my neck. 

“You would not like my summer weather.’

“Would I have your coat?’

    I might be willing to risk his weather if it meant having his coat, it smells like him. Stale smells and death, my chin dips to hide my nose that is jealous of how warm the rest of me is. His hands have stopped moving, his left thumb brushing back and forth along the fur collar. 

“If you wear the dark smile and eyes, then I would gladly give you my coat.’

    My Uncle Anansi’s fingers delve into the pockets of the coat, pressing close behind me, his chin resting on my shoulder. It chases away the death god’s hands at the collar and I’m a little angry that he did so. Even as my head turns I can feel my cheekbones rising slightly, the angle of my jaw sharpening, glaring at him.

“The coat is for me, not for you.’

“Your father will make a coat out of me if he sees you two all cozy, little one.’ His lips are close to my ear, voice low before kissing my ear. “We will find you a time to taste your Slavic prince later. But for now behave.’

    I can’t help laughing, Czernobog staring at us confused for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and reaching into his pockets. It’s only then I realize that neither of us had been speaking English. For a moment I’m concerned that he’s cold, but then he’s reaching forward with one hand to pull me away from Anansi his other hand searching the pockets of the coat to pull out his cigarettes. 

“Do you feel like a prince?’ I ask, head canting to the side as I watch him light up.

“Is that what you and Nancy were talking about?’ He seems amused, giving the soft pack a shake and offering me one. “Do you think I am a prince?’

“Maybe.’ My finger taps at the end of the cigarette to put it back. “A very dark one.’

    This makes him laugh, and it’s a rough sound, grating in his throat, tucking the pack into his pocket. 

“Is good! Is very good.’ He manages around chuckles.

    I’m pleased with myself because not only did I make him smile, I made him laugh. His arm is heavy around my shoulders as he begins guiding me towards the meeting in his town, the new one, Chicago. Anansi walks on my other side rubbing the bridge of his nose, muttering about earth shaking, and sharp teethed lions. 

    Sitting next to Anansi at the meeting, I cannot help watching Czernobog across the table, I chose this placement myself. He does not sit, he stands, hands stacked on the handle of his hammer, his thumb smoothing over the wood in slow steady strokes. I can’t help squirming in my seat, Anansi glancing at me and then following my gaze. An exasperated sigh escapes him as he lifts a hand to cover my eyes. 

    But it doesn’t help, the smell of him is still on my skin from his coat, and I can still see his hands in my mind’s eye. I can hear the way he laughed earlier when his arm went around my shoulder. I am used to letting my mind wander where it will, swimming through the chaotic thoughts like an eel, basking in them. But there is a sharp pinch to my thigh, a low hiss in my ear and I am forced to try and shift away from the thoughts. It is hard because I am reluctant, but I finally manage, reaching up to pull Anansi’s hand away from my eyes as I look towards the AllFather who is staring at me. 

    I like him because he never attempts to shame me, and he doesn’t now as he stares at me, but I can see he is thinking and that’s somehow worse. If he attempts to use me as leverage against someone I may get angry. Or play along. Or bite him… it will depend on my mood.


	5. Chapter 5

“Come now, sweetling.’ His hand slides along my shoulder blades, pulling me close to him. “Just listen for a moment.’

“You have had many moments, Grimnir. And yet to say anything in them.’ I remind him as I gently elbow his ribs. 

    His other hand presses against his chest as though I’ve wounded him, his groan pulled from deep in his chest. But I know better, the only thing on him that can be injured is his ego, and I have no interest in that.

“Well I’m building up to that.’

    Slipping from beneath his arm, I slide off the couch to the floor, boneless before rolling onto my feet to pace in front of him. His hand catches my wrist and tugs me close to stand between his knees. Where his good eye trails over my form I can feel it like a warm touch. My limbs are short, thick with muscle, jaw square as I have been feeling stubborn about these games he keeps wanting to play. His thumb brushes along the inside of my wrist over the pulse and I roll my eyes upwards feeling the curl of magic in his voice. 

“Who’s body is this?’ He asks quietly.

“Mine.’

“Yes but who did you know that looked like this?’ 

    My brow furrows, tsking as I pull my wrist free, stepping back. I can feel his charms like fur against my skin, warm, thick… smothering. 

“I am me, no one else.’

“Of that I have no doubt, sweetmeat. But surely even you have to draw inspiration from somewhere.’ He’s on his feet, moving towards me, hands held at his sides.

“I am the inspiration.’ I’m not sure how to explain it more concisely, my own pantheon doesn’t ask who only why. “These faces are all my own.’

“And how many do you have, hmm?’ 

    I know he is trying to charm me the long way round, I can feel it in the air like my uncle’s webs. And still I step back as he steps forward, keeping space between us. 

“As many as I feel.’

“And this… face, what’s this feeling?’

“Stubbornness.’ When he laughs it is a sharp sound like a thunder clap, two steps forward to my two steps back.

“You’re not always stubborn with me, we have fun sometimes don’t we?’

“Yes…’

“What about those days, remind me what that face looks like.’

    I shake my head, that’s not how it works. 

“Well just think about it for a bit. Remember the day we hid Ibis’ book, and he sicced Jaquel on everyone?’

    Unbidden a smile begins to curl my lips, it had been fun. Thoth had been so angry that his book had been stolen, without meaning to he’d cracked his glasses. The dead had shifted restlessly in the morgue, Anubis had glowered at everyone silently demanding answers. 

    I can feel my hair grow long and curly to my shoulders, chuckling as I continue to move backwards away from him. My limbs are not as heavy, lithe and tipped with sharp clawed nails as the muscles melt away leaving me slender and light footed. Giving my head another shake, I can see flashes of black and brown almost light enough to be gold. There is a small gap between my front teeth and freckles sprout from my tawny skin across my nose.

“There it is! That’s my favourite, I’ll have you know. This is the face of fun.’

    Already I have forgotten that moments ago I was annoyed with him, the promise of a trick has me curious, though I haven’t stopped moving backwards. At least not until my back hits the wall, laying against it as I watch him continue to stalk closer. 

“You shift your shape so easily, it is truly a marvel to watch.’ His hands land on my hips, squeezing before moving up towards my ribs as though he thinks that he could mold my shape himself. “We could play wonderful games together, don’t you think?’

    His lips brush against mine as he speaks, a hand moving back down over my hip to my thigh, yanking it up to hook on his hip. My breath catches when his arm snakes behind my back, yanking me away from the wall to dip me over backwards. My fingers fly to his upper arms, clinging as I try to remember how to breathe in and out again. 

“Or perhaps you don’t want to play games with me anymore?’ A pout on his lips as he pulls me upright again, the hand on my back slowly stroking up and down along my spine. 

“It would depend on the game.’ I shrug, the pout is fake, this entire playful mood is fake, he can’t quite hide the cunning gleam in his eye. “You still have told me nothing. I will not promise my time for nothing.’

“It’s something we both want, I can assure you of that.’ If I hadn’t had my own moods to sift through as they changed with little provocation or warning I’d find myself lost as his tone changed once more to a salesman. “That’s how the best games are played, everybody wins.’

“What. Game.’ I say each word slowly, my fingers still resting on the AllFather’s arms.

“Well I want war, and you like war…’

“I’m no war gods, Crooked One. My skill lay in tricking or trapping minds. Breaking them.’

“Yes, I know, and while your dear sweet Uncle Nancy is busy trapping a few of his own, I was thinking you could catch one all by yourself.’ His hands shift again, one taking hold of my wrist while the other presses against my hip leading me into a spin before pulling me close again. “It shouldn’t be too hard, sparks fly every time the two of you get within fifteen feet of each other, so why not spice up what’s already going to be a very hot union?’

    I yank my hand loose and shove at his chest, the hair that had been resting on my shoulders lifting with my surprise as I glare at him. Course curls rise dark around my head like a thunder cloud, skin saturating until the light seems to soak into my skin instead of reflect it. 

“I will not play tricks on the Black God of the north.’

“Easy now, easy…’ His hands are lifted palms facing me as he smiles. “Tricks might have been a strong word but the right words murmured during pillow talk…’

“No.’ 

    One word, clear, concise, soft, moving towards him as I lift a hand to touch his face. The playful lilt of his lips fades, his false eye glowing brightly as he scowls at me.

“Now sweetling, no need to play rough. It was only an idea, a suggestion.’ Backing away, he rolls his eyes. “I’m only saying, that this war could benefit us all if only certain parties-’

“You tried to charm me, Glad of War.’ My throat vibrates with too many voices all trying to screech out past my vocal cords at once. “To turn my head with your words and magics.’

“I can’t help being charming, it’s part of my charm.’ His smile is stilted as I dart forward, fingers skimming along his cheek before tangling in his hair to pull myself closer. “Now, now…’

“You come to my home…’ whispers twine and writhe through my voice, eyes a bright blue close to white. “And try to cast your charms on me like some demigod seeking your favors.’

    My mouth brushes against his when he opens it to argue, and his breath tastes like honey mead. Twining my other fingers into his hair I press close, speaking without speaking, whispers filling the air around us. I wrap him in bedlam, and the sharp bite of creatures not there who paw at your skin.

“I’m half mad already, sweetling…’

    He’s taunting me, hands wrapping around my hips and pressing. But I smile, licking his lower lip as the whispers grow into shrieks building in crescendo. 

“Half,’ my eyes can’t settle on a single set of colours, swirling between pigments as my face begins to shift from one to another. “Half mad, and tired.’

“Now, darling… you don’t want to start something you can’t finish.’

    My nails dig into his scalp, pressing harshly as I also force half images into his mind, shadows that passed in front of his eyes. And more than that I shoved the dark corners of my homeland deep into his mind as his fingers bit deeply into my hips.

“What hell is this?!’

    Anansi’s voice is distant, my gaze locked with Odin’s as his will presses against my own. But I’ve by far gotten a head start, the charms he’d been using against me were persuasive, cajoling. My only goal has been to bring him to his knees.

“Let him go!’ 

    Hands grip my wrists, my upper arms, even as the jaguar’s snarl rips itself from my lips. Odin’s lips are moving against mine as he tries to find a counter spell, and he knows many. Not enough, his chants stuttering off, the words coming out half finished. The hands on me yank harder and I let go, surprised to find that we’d sank down to our knees.

“What have you done…’

“He needed a nap.’ 

    There is only one pair of arms around me now, Odin kneeling on the ground muttering broken charms to himself. I can feel my uncle’s anger like sharp nips against my skin, form shrinking to something smaller, pitiable.

“Child you can’t just-’

“He tried to charm me, use me as a trick against Czernobog. I am no one’s play thing.’

“.... I shouldn’t say I’m proud of you, or that he deserved this.’

“And you don’t need to.’

    But his arms tighten around me once more as an embrace, and I can feel the smile on his lips as they rest against my shoulder. The AllFather has fallen silent, and I reach out a foot to nudge him with my toes. Nothing. 

“Maybe we should get him a blanket.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one could argue that either pantheon is older than the other of course. but madness is chaos and anyone can succumb to that. besides it’s not the first time Odin took a nap to recover after some bs


	6. Chapter 6

    The doors open slowly, and I watch them as they slide. Out of all modern conveniences I think automated doors are among my favourite. It is like being treated like royalty, walking through them I pause in the lobby and look over the reception area. The walls are a cheery yellow, the chairs a plush leather that’s as fake as the smile the mortal manning the counter wears. 

“Visiting?’

“Yes.’

    My fingers skim the fake wood, smiling down at him as he pulls a clipboard out for me to fill out. Staring down at it without touching it, I look back to him before sliding it back. 

“Open the door please.’ 

“Uh… well, I will when you fill out the form. You’ll get a visitors pass and-’

    He blinks as I continue sliding the clipboard until it falls over to his lower shelf of the desk. 

“The pass please.’

“Sir I can’t just-’

    His words dry in his throat as he continues to meet my gaze, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. As I continue to press, he shudders and finally looks away. His fingers stumble over the keys, handing me a small badge that I clip to the lapel of the suit my uncle wove for me. 

    The fabric shimmers as I walk towards the door, tapping square fingertips against the glass to gain the attention of the guard sitting on the other side reading a magazine. I can feel the heavy sigh that he lets out before rolling to his feet, eyeing the badge briefly before opening the door. 

    Noise is immediate as the door opens, assaulting my sense and my eyes close. Opening them again, I walk down the hall, the hard sole of my loafers clicking against the linoleum as I move towards the rec room. Everything is a whirl of colours and scents, my lips curling into a smile as I walk the edge of the room. Some of the patients reach out for me, heavily medicated, slow limbed, and I grasp their hands letting them soak in the bedlam that surrounds my form. 

    Of all the sounds I’m not sure which is my favourite. There’s the laughter, raucous, off key, hiccuped sometimes as the body revolts against the constant strain. Or the wailing, melodious in the way it crescendos to a fragile peak before shattering. Or the low mutterings punctuated by growls, that bass rumble cutting beneath it all.

    It’s so hard to choose, I think as I continue circling the room in tighter and tighter circuits until stand in the middle. Even the most docile inhabitants are active now, the door slamming open as doctors, nurses, and the heavy handed men and women meant to subdue the lovely creatures currently creating chaos around me. 

    I feel fingers grip my arm, clinging to me as a plump body body presses close. Looking down I can see bright green eyes staring up at me, peering through hair that half hangs in front of her face. Patient, waiting, I can see her trying to formulate a question. It’s hard for her, and I don’t rush her, but I don’t coax her either. 

“I’ve seen you.’ She finally manages in a low whisper, giggling sharply and then stopping as she peers up at me eagerly.

“Where have you seen me?’

“In my house, you were standing in the shadows, watching my wife hit me…’ I’m silent, there’s a hint of accusation in her tone but it doesn’t offend me. “You watched and watched but didn’t stop her.’

“I did not.’

“But you held me after… after…’

“After you hit her back when she fell asleep, yes I did.’ I can feel her body shivering against me, tears running down her cheeks. “Why are you trying so hard to remember?’

“The doctors tell me that I should.’

    My nose wrinkles at the bridge, they would. It’s so much better when the madness takes them. It is punishment enough I would think, I’ve wandered through their nightmares when their subconscious mind rages. Before I’m able to speak again, the two of us are tackled by over exuberant orderlies. I do try to take the brunt of the fall but I can feel something warm and wet against my arm. 

    Crimson is pouring from the woman’s nose, and she’s screaming. My hand flies towards the nearest orderly’s face, palming it and shoving madness into his mind so forcibly I feel his brain snap at the same time his nose does. His body goes limp over me, and I shove him off to reach for the other my mouth opening to show teeth that have sharpened and a snake head tongue as I shove madness into him next. 

    …..

    ………..

    I do not recall what happens after that, only that as I am leaving there are more staff on the ground howling and gibbering than patients, standing amid the chaos straightening my suit on my broad shoulders. Stepping over bodies, I push open the door, leaving the guards chair propping it open and walk past the front desk which is now empty.

    As I exit to the sidewalk, my Uncle Anansi is standing there watching me. 

“Do I want to know?’

    I shrug my shoulders, letting out a huff as he reaches out to flick at a tooth that had been tucked into my hair. 

“At least the suit’s salvageable.’ He finally mutters turning to leave and I walk beside him.

“How was your day, Uncle?’

“Oh you know, wisdom falling on mostly deaf ears. But the seed was left to grow.’

    I chuckle, the sound starting low, growing louder into a laugh and then a cackle that sounds like a pack of hyenas. He laughs with me, bumping me with his shoulder as we leave the institution behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be fair they didn’t go there for violence. it’s the equivalent of going to a restaurant and putting on your favorite song, and then having the staff violently smash the jukebox. just very rude


	7. Chapter 7

“You like him.’ Bilquis sounds surprised, her husky voice carrying the high pitch of a query even though she’d made a statement. “Your father had mentioned it but I thought he was simply overreacting.’

    My shoulders roll in a shrug. I cannot deny it, and don’t see why I should. I am allowed to come along but not to the meetings, not since I brought the AllFather to his knees. It’s not him that is bitter, at least not anymore. My father is still furious with me, so I stay at the edge of the gatherings while business is being spoken, and allowed to mingle as we all enjoy the presence of each other. 

“Your eyes were honey a moment ago and now they are night skies…’ 

“He likes these eyes.’

   Warm fingertips skim my jaw, gently hooking beneath my chin to turn my face to her. I’m not able to read her expression, the soft smile on her face does not match the look in her eyes as I stare back. Her thumb brushes across my lower lip as she continues to examine me. 

“I can’t see it myself, but I can feel your hunger for him like warm sun.’ Tone amused, she leans forward to kiss me gently. “You will burn him.’

“Perhaps.’

    Her laugh is sultry, and even though it is low a few heads turn curious. Still laughing her hand falls away from my face, leaving me alone leaning against the wall with my arms loosely crossed over my stomach. I can see that the Crooked One is watching me, his smile as crooked as his name as he wiggles his fingers in my direction in greeting. My head tilts, a smile tugging at my lips before he turns away to continue speaking with a goddess of harvest.

    I want to go speak with Czernobog, but his sisters are at his side, her three faces making three different expressions. It’s fascinating, I find myself watching them though his presence occasionally drags my gaze away. To be honest I am ever so slightly jealous, I can only wear one face at once, the idea of three is just… 

“I am not here for your amusement.’

    The older face snaps in my direction as the younger speaks to Czernobog quietly. I had not realized that they’d moved closer, or it may have been me, the wall is no longer at my back.

“I am not amused, Zorya Vechernyaya. I am jealous of your beauty.’

    This mollifies her slightly, I can see it in the way her thin lips stop pressing together. The middle sister’s cheeks blush, her gaze flicking towards me before looking away. 

“It is still rude to stare.’

“True.’ I say though I haven’t stopped, watching her head turn so the youngest face is able to speak.

“I do not mind.’

“My sisters never agree on anything. If I say sky looks sunny one of them will tell me there will be rain.’ He scoffs, though I can see his affection just barely glowing beneath his irritation. “Another will tell me it is night, and the last that I must be blind.’

    I do try not to laugh, but he sounds so disgruntled I cannot help it, the sound escaping me suddenly, and just as suddenly stopping. The youngest sister smiles at me before the head turns again.

“You are wearing the eyes today.’

“I knew you would be here.’ I grin, my teeth white and sharp against the burnished tone of my skin.

    Zorya Vechernyaya mutters something in a language I don’t understand, but I know it was less than pleasant by the way Czernobog silences what may have came next with a sharp hiss between his teeth. Now I’m curious, leaning in closer.

“What did you say?’

“I said.’ She paused glancing back towards her brother, before continuing. “That you are a shameless creature, and should be trained to be inside house before being let around other people.’

    That’s not nearly as bad as I was expecting.

“Because I want to please the Black God?’

“That is not all you want to do.’

    I’m surprised by the snarl of foreign tongue Czernobog sends towards his sisters, even more so by the hand that wraps around my arm to drag me away. Staring at him as he moves us through the crowd, I follow his steps until he pulls me into a room with its door opened. Glancing around, I feel a flicker of confusion and then shrug it away, moving to slide onto the table and sit with my legs swinging.

“She tells pretty lies when she wants to, but she also tells harsher things that she calls truths.’

“But she’s not wrong.’

    The lighter pauses just shy of the cigarette he’s placed in his mouth, before he lights it and takes a long drag. I’m not sure if I like his hair soft and clean like this, or the hard curl of his dirty greasy hair. Heel of my palms resting on the table between my thighs, my fingers wrap around the hard edge as I lean forward. 

“She is not wrong.’ I repeat, when he gives me no further answer. “If you would like to, I would like to as well.’

“Fuck like humans?’

“Or any other mortal creature, why not?’ I smile my sharp teeth at him again. “Immortals enjoy it as well. I could name several.’

    He snorts, smoke drifting from his nostrils after a hush of smoke, taking another drag before pulling the cigarette from his mouth. “Have you?’

“Yes. Haven’t you?’

“I kill humans, and others do not often enjoy my company for that. They prefer my strength.’

    My gaze lowers to his shoulders, draped in coarse fabric.

“Maybe you would enjoy it if it were more violent then.’

    He chuckles, shaking his head but I can see that he’s interested, the idea is working through his mind. 

“Surely you know it’s not always soft touches and things like our Queen Bilquis enjoys.’

“Yes, yes, I know.’

“So?’

“So.’

    Hopping off the table, I pause fingers moving towards the fabric draped over my shoulders and tug at it to send it spilling to the floor. My skin is a patchwork of light and dark, I’m of many minds coming to the meeting. The cigarette pinched between his fingers twitches, gaze moving over my body and I wait until he meets my eyes again.

“Zorya Vechernyaya is right, you are shameless creature.’

    Lightly stepping out of the puddle of fabric, I move closer and reach out for the lapels of his jacket. It’s rough against my fingertips, gripping it and pushing it farther open, over his shoulders to begin sliding down his arms. Shifting the cigarette between his hands he lets me take it, watching as I toss it behind me towards the table. My fingers skim up his arms, pausing when muscle flexes beneath the fabric of his shirt before moving along his shoulders. 

“Shame is for mortals, life is too long to be worried about other’s thoughts.’

“True.’ 

    He lets the cigarette fall by his foot, fingers moving to unbutton the tight collar at his throat as I cup his jaw in both hands feeling his beard prickle against my palms. I feel put out when he smacks the inside of my wrists to move my hands away from his face, stepping towards me until we’re flush against each other and I take a step back. 

“Not gentle.’ He murmurs.

    That’s fair, a shiver running through me as I lift my hand, staring at the smile he’s wearing that’s more a baring of teeth. Tongue wetting my lips, I slap his cheek, hard, his eyes going dark as I watch him. When he steps closer, I slap the same cheek again as I take a step back, seeing a dull red glow begin in his pupils and slowly spread. 

“You’re sure.’ 

    It’s not a question, not really, and I can feel a flutter in my belly that I can’t really place a name to at the bass growl that runs undercurrent in his words. But I’m looking up at him now, my body adjusting to the flicker of fear, the promise of becoming prey. Leaning up, I tangle my fingers in his hair and yank hard, biting down on his lower lip pulling a groan from him. Still he isn’t touching me, and I pull back, slowly lowering to rest flat foot and take a step back. And another, my hand moving over my hip, fingers curling to drag my nails over my skin. Where it is dark, the skin raising is easy to see, but where it is light red lines raise on my skin. 

“Are  _ you _ sure?’ I whisper, his eyes follow my fingers, as they slide over my ribs pressing hard but no longer scratching, higher to cup my breast and squeeze hard enough my nails leave crescents in the flesh.

    His fingers begin unbuttoning the rest of his shirt only to pause, when I shake my head. Bemused smile curling his lips, he moves towards me again and catches my wrist when I go to slap him again. It aches as he squeezes, but I don’t make a noise until his hand twists and I realize that’s what he’s angling for. The low whine in my throat makes him shiver, yanking me close to kiss as he twists his hand again to drink the small noises. 

“No breaking bones.’ I gasp, tugging at my hand, then letting out a sigh when he loosens his grip. 

“Not bones.’ He replies, biting down on my lower lip dragging a yelp from me as his hand moves farther up my arm. 

    I can taste copper when he nips my lower lip again, my free hand moving down his chest, skimming over the buttons to curl my fingers around his cock through his slacks and grip it tightly. Czernobog gasps something in his own Slavic tongue, and I grin as I slowly slide my fingers along his length feeling it harden against my palm. Body leaning closer I enjoy the glide of his shirt over my skin, back arching when he forces my arm behind me with an iron grip on my forearm. 

    The angle isn’t sharp enough to hurt, but my shoulder protests regardless, opening my mouth against the press of his. I hadn’t realized how distracting his kisses would be, the taste of him, the feel of his beard against my skin. I don’t realize I’m laughing until my shoulders hit the wall cutting me off, the fingers around his cock squeezing tighter dragging a groan from him that I’m not sure if it’s pleasure or pain. 

    His right hand moves down, fingertips digging in as they follow the curve of my thigh, my head tilting when he breaks the kiss to nip his way along my jaw, my neck. I feel pinned, my arm still behind me, the other caught between us as he crowds in closer. Fumbling I manage to find the fastening of his slacks, thumb pushing the zipper down before sliding my fingers inside to pull his cock out through the opening. 

    It’s enough to make him loosen his grip on the arm he’s twisted behind my back, teeth sinking into the muscle near my shoulder as he instead lifts me and drags blunt nails along the backs of my thighs to move them around his waist. I’m glad I didn’t let him also undress, the fabric of his slacks is rough against my inner thighs, my hips clumsily rolling against his without any true leverage. Heels digging into the backs of his thighs, I manage to lift myself enough to be able to reach between us and line up the head of his cock with my entrance.

    Slick as I am, it almost hurts. Well it does, but in a way that’s by far acceptable as he grinds and thrusts his way into me. I can’t help the writhe of my body away from the slow burn, but his hands grip my hips tightly and pull me back down until he’s fully sheathed letting out a low hushed sound that’s a mix of sigh and growl making my skin prickle. My hands resting against his chest are clutching the fabric, I don’t remember putting them there, watching him lift his head from my shoulder. His eyes are a dull red that glows when I can see his face, power rising from his skin like heat shimmers, when I wriggle this time it is excitement as he stares at me.

“So?’ I ask breathlessly, heels digging in again to lift myself against the wall slightly. “Is good?’

    I mimic his accent, seeing the corner of his mouth twitch upwards into a smile as his hands smooth along my hips. The longer he takes to do anything, the tighter my insides feel with anticipation. It’s standing out on the savanna during the summer and feeling the storm build around you, it’s carefully holding still so the demons that prowl the night don’t see you. Thighs squeezing, I tighten around his cock and feel a shiver run up the length of my spine when he lets out a huff of air through his nose even as his hips jerk to close the slight distance I’d created.

“Yes, yes is good.’ His voice grates, rough and sharp as his hands hold me against the wall.

    My hands move to his shirt, tugging and pulling at his shirt to force the buttons through their loops, dipping inside to touch his bare skin. It’s cool to the touch, surprising me as my nails dig into the tight muscle I find there. Pressing my shoulders into the wall, I roll my hips, once, twice, my clit grinding against the hard fabric that hides the metal clasp to his slacks. I’m going to be sore after this, and a low needy whine escapes my throat at the thought.

    When his hands shift, I greedily lean forward to kiss him, silently thanking him for finally doing something other than hold me against the wall. Not that it isn’t nice, my thighs spreading slightly as his fingertips dig in deeply as he pulls back. The wall catches slightly on my sweaty skin as he half drops, half thrusts in, a noise catching in my throat. I turn my focus to not writhing out of his grip as he tries to find a pace he likes, the ache between my legs sending sparks of pleasure up my spine as his hips connect sharply with mine. 

    The pace he finally settles on is relentless, pounding into me in a steady, hard rut that sends the sparks into a sharper heat. If I’d not been so impatiently waiting, I might be able to keep myself teetering on the edge of the storm I can feel building under my skin. The hands on his shoulders push, trying to shift the angle, the friction against my clit sharp and insistent even as I clench around him trying to pull him in deeper. I can feel his lips under my chin when my head falls back, the scratch of his beard against my skin another sensation when I feel like anything else might drive me to join my worshippers in an oblivion of madness.

    His teeth feel sharper than they are as he bites down, hard, my body jerking as the promise of orgasm teases itself under my skin. Fingers tangling in his hair as Czernobog skims his mouth over to the crook of my neck before biting again. My mouth is moving, and I can feel myself speaking but my mind can’t focus on what, spine arching even as body lengthens slowly feeling his mouth move further down, teeth clamping down hard on my breast drawing a low moan from my throat. There is a dull scent of metal mixing with the acrid smell of sweat, and I can just barely focus enough to notice the blood that is trickling over my skin from where his teeth have left their mark.

    My body shivers feeling the sharp itch of his beard against my nipple, the soft glide of his lower lip. Everything seems to freeze as the storm races through my body, lightning striking hard and fast upwards as his teeth bite down again. When I can breathe again, see anything other than bright flashes of light, I can feel the imprint of his teeth around the areola throbbing even as he continues to piston in and out of me. I can feel my body hitching as it comes down from the intense pleasure, and then writhing when he doesn’t stop thrusting, every inch of my body screaming at the continued stimulation. 

    He pays little attention to the way my hands push at his shoulders, my legs bending and trying to use leverage against his ribs to move him away. Czernobog’s fingers dig in as he sharpens his thrusts, a keen escaping me as he bites again into the side of my other breast fueling the lightning shocks between my legs that begin to burn like a brush fire. Despite my fevered attempts to escape the steady, constant pounding between my legs I don’t tell him to stop. A part of me is eagerly awaiting the hard piercing pleasure promised by a second orgasm, breath stuttering as his thrusts drag along a swollen bundle of nerves inside me.

    A sound somewhere between a snarl and a sob escapes me, leaving my throat aching as he makes sure to angle his thrusts exactly that way, my nails scraping as they slide over sweat slick skin. When I orgasm this time it’s a liquid rush of heat, erupting upwards to steal my breath before rushing out from between my legs as he continues to thrust. Listing towards him, I let out a muzzy grunt of pain as he moves back so my shoulders and head hit the wall. For his seeming reluctance before we started, he is intensely focused on the task at hand. A hand leaves my hip to grasp my throat, making the bite against my throat itch, my chin lifting as he tightened his grasp.

“Again.’

    Staring at him over the high rise of my cheekbones, I can’t help the shake of my head. My entire body feels limp, certain places of me raw and aching, lazy jerks take my body when his cock drags over the bundle of nerves a knuckle’s depth inside me. A yelp of surprise drags itself out of my throat past the pressure he’s applying in surprise. Legs unable to support me when they’re dropped to the floor, my fingers move to his forearm as leverage to regain some semblance of balance. 

“One more, for me.’ Czernobog croons, crowding me against the wall, teeth catching my earlobe and tugging.

    The legs I just managed to stand on almost go out from beneath me as his broad hand cups my groin lightly grinding against the mound with the heel of his hand. I can’t help the swirl of my hips in time with the pressure, though the muscles in my thighs shake. It’s still almost too much, his fingers rubbing against my swollen lips making me go high on my tiptoes.

“Twice… is not… enough?’ 

    His grip on my neck doesn’t lessen so much as shift so the bone of my jaw takes the brunt of my weight. My feet stumble as he pulls me towards him, my hands flailing slightly to grasp at his shirt. The touch between my legs is still gentle though insistent, and I can feel something building, filling me like warm sunshine that has the promise of scorching heat if I don’t move from beneath the rays.

“Nyet,’ I know that means no, my eyes half shuttered as I watch him smile as he slides a finger between my lips.

     My body shudders, trying to move higher against the wall. The finger slowly rubbing and out of me feels both good and too much after the hard fuck from before, reaching down to push against his wrist as my thighs close around his hand. When a second finger slowly forces its way inside my body jerks.

“One more.’

    In retaliation, I turn my head to bite his neck, my teeth catching fabric and skin as I clench my teeth. I can’t call the noise that leaves him anything but a growl, as he pulls his hand free. Letting out a shuddering breath of relief, it’s short lived as he pulls back, pulling me away from the wall by his grip around my neck, stumbling when he turns me and shoved me towards the table. It hits my thighs, hands slamming down on the surface to keep from splaying over it, my back straightening when I feel him press behind me. 

    A broad hand presses against my spine between my shoulder blades, hands slipping and I land hard on my forearms with a huff. My entire body throbs at the jolt, taking in deep breaths only to have it catch when I feel him thrust into me as his nails drag down my spine. The sharp edged pleasure tears through me like claws, drawing a ragged shout from me as my legs refuse to support my weight, his hips thrusting in and out in a unsteady rhythm before pressing harshly against me and grinding as he orgasms with a groan I can feel through every cell.

    Hands catch my waist as he pulls back, my body limp as he turns me and slides me onto the table on my back. I can feel his eyes move over me, and then the ghost of sensation as rough fingertips skim over the bite marks he left behind. I open my eyes as his hand moves away, in time to see him lift his fingers to his mouth and lick the blood from the pads of his fingers.

“You taste like sunrise blood, solnyshka…’ he purrs, leaning over me to bite down on one of the marks making it bleed again.

“S-soln-‘ the word dies on my tongue when he moves to another mark and bites down harder, my body curling as I tangle clumsy fingers in his hair and yank to pull him away as his tongue probes the wound. “M'kundu!’

    He doesn’t apologize, or even have the courtesy to look ashamed, as he licks the blood from his lower lip. The red of his eyes is dark, like fresh gouts of blood, as he smiles wolfishly at me.

“I think you are not being complimentary.’

    I am not, repeating myself again in English calling him an asshole which makes him chuckle. Standing upright, he rebuttons his shirt, and I can see where blood has soaked into his shirt from the bites he’s left on my body. Falling back on the table, my hand moves to skim over each feeling them still slick with blood and swollen. Curiously, my hand moves lower, gently rubbing my lips and lifting them. I can see no semen, sending him a questioning look as I lick them to find no taste other than my own.

“I am death god.’ 

    He says as if that explains it, and I feel like it should but my brain is too hazy. Slowly sitting up, I almost regret the action as my groin throbs where it presses against the table. Watching him tuck his still half hard cock back into his slacks, I can see that the fabric at his hips to mid thigh is wet, a snort of amusement escaping me that I instantly regret as it shifts things that ache.

“I do not create life.’ He adds, when I continue to look at him, two fingertips still in my mouth. 

    Oh… well that’s disappointing. I watch him as he kneels down, picking up the flowing fabric I’d been wearing and putting it on the table next to me. It makes my mouth twitch with humor as my hand shakes when I reach for it, fingers bunching it into my fist when his hands wrap around my calves and tug me to the end of the table. Eyes going wide, as he leans forward, my legs jerking as I try to close them. But he licks the moisture on my thighs, teeth lightly grazing the skin. 

“If you move any higher…’ I warn, my free hand moving to place my palm on his head.

“I do not, but you did.’

“Did wh- oh! Yes, sometimes.’ My abdomen clenches as he licks the other thigh, pressing forward ever so slightly despite my hand.

“Sunrise blood and good coffee. Little bitter, little sweet.’

    He stops pressing and I watch him warily as I move my hand away. My breath leaves me in a rush as he darts forward and runs the flat of his tongue against me, pulling back as my thighs slam together at the contact to overly sensitive flesh. 

“Is good.’

    I growl up at him as he laughs, pushing himself to his feet, taking my garment out of my hand and pulling it over my head. The fabric against the bite marks burns, but I know already there is no way for it to be adjusted to avoid it. 

“You look good like this.’ His voice is low, my eyes closing as it causes a throb low between my legs, which is followed by a deep ache. “Is my new favourite look.’

    Taking the hand he holds out to me, I slide slowly off the table, gingerly reaching the floor on my toes, then flat foot. My fingers tangle in his shirt when my legs give out beneath me, feeling his arm move around my ribs to hold me against him. After a moment I still cannot feel them, not really, pushing away from him to sit back on the edge of the table. When I’m seated, he grabs one of the chairs by the wall, picking up his suit jacket from the floor and finding his cigarettes. 

“We will stay here.’ He shrugs. “I do not want to listen to Votan’s braying anymore today.’

“What does solvinska mean?’ I ask when we have sat silently for long moments, watching him shake his head.

“Solnyshka.’ The word is said slowly, his blue eyes watching the smoke rise from the end of his cigarette before looking at me waiting for me to repeat it. After I do he smiles. “Is good! Uh… solnyshka means… little sun, or sunshiney persons.’

    He holds his cigarette out to me, but I shake my head. I don’t mind the smell, but I do not like the taste of the smoke itself on my tongue. On someone else’s however...

“You are very bright.’ He pauses, pinching the fabric of his slacks only just realizing that they’re wet across his thighs. “And hot, specifically just little while ago.’

    I mutter the word to myself until it feels comfortable on my tongue, sending Czernobog a smile when I notice he’s watching me even as the ember of his cigarette smolders near his knuckles. 

“What?’

“Nothing.’ 

    The denial is too quick, and he’s still staring, my head canting to the side as I wait for him to say whatever it is that he’s thinking. Time is passing and still he’s staring, tentatively sliding off the table, I gingerly rest my weight on my feet and find my legs only a little shaky. Good, fingers ruffling through my curls, I start to walk past him only to have his hand stop me resting low on my belly.

“We do this again, or no?’

“Sure, but later, I’m a little…’ my fingers dance in the air. 

“Hurt.’ It’s not an apology, and he doesn’t sound overly concerned. To be fair he shouldn’t we’d agreed on a hard fucking and that’s what we got.

“Sore is a better word.’ 

“Yes, sore.’ His hand slides to my hip, turning me and pulling me towards him. “Is good?’

“Is very good.’ Slipping out of his grasp I move towards the door, shrugging my shoulder as my feet carefully move backwards. “Find me when you’re wanting to do this again, Czernobog.’

    A playful smile sent his way, I turn in the doorway and back towards the meeting hall only to find Anansi leaning against the wall. He smiles at me and tips his hat, holding out his arm to me. I’m shameless enough to take it, leaning against him with a relieved sigh. 

“How’d he taste?’

“Like an old battlefield and just as rough.’ I smile broadly, the words hummed out. “He doesn’t orgasm with semen though.’

“Fuckin’ Death gods.’ 

    I know he’s humoring me, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and seeing the bite marks that are visible, and the speckles of damp fabric where he cannot. 

“Didn’t even try to give you a cuddle? I could go back there and kick his ass.’

“I didn’t want one, I can still walk.’ I yelp when he purposefully tugs me off balance, the throbbing pain suddenly sharp as I try to keep my feet. “Well I can walk not dance.’

“Child… I need to teach you about safe words…’ he tsks, arm going around my shoulder. “A whole different kind of crazy is what you’re getting into.’

“.... Father noticed my absence?’

“Of course.’ He laughs when I try to duck under his arm to go back the way I came, holding me close. “Oh no, you made your bed with your Slavic prince now lay in it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder that this is a mix of book and show, and I really liked the idea of the three faced deity that comprises the sisters when their godhood is shining bright, y’know?
> 
> my friend at the time who read this when it was written asked why not dead sperm? to which I replied but why sperm?


	8. Chapter 8

    I can still feel my father’s deep rumbling voice in my bones, the drum steady beat his words took during a lecture. To say he’d been displeased with my sneaking off to fuck Czernobog would be an understatement. It is not the first disagreement I’ve had with my father and it won’t be he last. 

    But I was out now, walking down the street looking out of date and out of place as I relearned how humanity felt. An arm around my shoulders surprised me, head turning to find Anansi smiling his brightest smile.

“Everything’s that little bit different but mostly the same.’

    He wasn’t wrong, the mortals were still mortals but little things had changed, pausing by a window to stare at boxes with glass that reflected things other than my own face. When I moved towards the door, Anansi gripped my upper arm and pulled me back.

“Mm-mm, we can’t go in that door, little one.’

“Why not?’

“Because our people have gotten themselves mired down in a mess but they’re too tired to do anything about it yet.’

    This doesn’t make sense, but I let Anansi pull me away from the door and past the window again. We’re in Cairo, and it almost feels familiar, the air almost tastes familiar. I can’t stop looking around if my life depended on it, though based on the way some of the mortals glare at me I feel like it might. Curious, Anansi is half dragging me as I keep turning to hold eye contact with those mortals, finally managing to walk properly as we get closer to the mortuary. 

“To be honest, your father is still furious, but we all know that punishments don’t really work on you.’ 

    He pauses as I stand between the two statues watching over the hidden gate, pressing a kiss to the jackal’s toes, and then a quick bow to the ibis, I turn with a smile to him.

“As is plain to see by the fact that you’re not even upset by the twenty something years you stayed locked up with him lecturing you whenever he felt like it.’

“Twenty years?’

    That explains a lot, though time runs differently for immortals. Even more so for me living moment to moment, sensation to sensation, craving to urge. But I did know it had been a while since I’d enjoyed the sun on my face, the touch of air breezing past me carrying all sorts of smells. Long legs carry me up the stairs, two at a time, pushing open the impressive looking doors to stand in the hall.

    The dead rest here, are given their final respects before being left to the ground and rot in pretty boxes their families bought for them. A meow draws my eyes to the ground, dropping onto my heels to lift the sleek cat that sits waiting there. Cuddling her close to my chest, I nuzzle against her head with my jaw, as I begin walking towards Thoth’s study. Nails biting into my skin make me pause, another step, another pinch of claws. 

    Fine. Thoth must be busy, turning instead towards Anubis’ workplace the cat slipping out of my grasp, I can feel the air growing cooler against my skin. As I walk into the room, my hands immediately slide into my pockets out of habit. Cluttered as it seems, everything is in a very specific place that I shouldn’t touch. We will see how long it lasts.

“You look well.’

“Thank you, Uncle.’ I wander closer, looking around his arm down at the mortal’s body laid out on the slab. “She doesn’t look old.’

“She is not.’

    But he doesn’t expand on that, and I don’t push. If it were an interesting story then he would tell me in his low baritone. The voice that filled the room the hints of shadows, made the room seem darker but somehow sharper. When he lifts out the organs and moves to put them in a container, I skip back until I find a counter and squirm my way onto it. I watch things fall to the floor, and there is the crackle of paper behind me, but I’m here now and that’s that.

“How is Set?’ Anubis pauses to finish recording some notes about the corpse before beginning to refill the chest cavity. “I heard that you caused quite the ruckus.’

“Disappointed.’ My shoulders roll in a shrug. “Do you have a water flask I could borrow?’

“We don’t have a car to loan you.’

“I don’t need one, just the water flask.’

    A smile ghosts over his lips, eyes rolling before pulling off the gloves that kept his fingers clean. I can still remember the time before he began to play human, the blood that had caked him to his elbows, splattering the front of his chest as he tugged things out to weigh. 

“You will be staying for dinner, at the very least.’

    Only half pulled from my reminiscing, I nod as I continue to stare at him seeing the now, and then, superimposed over each other but ever so slightly off. Somewhere I read that there were those who cared for the dead’s remains, but crassly stapled the body closed under the clothes. Watching Anubis’ needle move through the flesh, I can’t understand why they would do that and leave something that won’t rot with the corpse.

“If you’re wanting meat, you may want to speak with Bast.

“Why?’

“Thoth is insisting on a less meat heavy diet, and while I am willing to humor his request, Bast does not.’

“Oh…’

    Slipping off the counter, I leave him to his work, making my way to the kitchen and begin opening cupboards. Some of the doors are closed after I search through them, some of them are not. It’s while I’m rooting through the Kelvinator that I feel a hand at the small of my back.

“You leave behind more mess that I do.’ 

“Hello, Bast. Anubis said I had to speak to you about dinner.’

“I’ll share my meal with you, child. Now stop moving through the kitchen like a desert storm.’

    Slowly standing, I flick the door closed, then more carefully check to make sure the handle is secure before turning to face her with a shrug. 

“I was curious.’

    She lets out a low hum, one that sounds both amused and reprimanding in the same note, hooking her arm with mine. As we leave, I see her reach out and send a glass tumbling off the counter to the floor. 

“Tell me about your new friend, sweetmeat. In my experience most death gods don’t make much of sex.’ 

    Behind us I can hear Anansi laughing as he discovers the kitchen, but Bast is pulling me forward to a sitting room. Once inside, we move towards the rug and sink down onto it to enjoy the warm sunshine pouring in through the window. I feel the heat of sand against the places my skin is bare for a moment, hot and itchy before the sensation is gone. 

“So?’

    I laugh because that is the same question I had asked, shifting to find a comfortable position next to her on the rug.

“It wasn’t really about the sex so much as the climax itself, he seemed to really enjoy that.’

“Really?’

“Well, mine, not his.’

“That makes much more sense,’ her arms stretch out, hands sliding over my stomach. When she sees me watching her, she smiles. “The climax is like a little death, of course he liked that.’

    Snorting, I stretch fully, holding it as my muscles enjoy and then complain about it before going limp. 

“Did Set threaten to chain you to the stern of Ra’s boat?’

“No, but he did say that he would send me to Sobek to spend a few decades in the river until I gained some sense.’

    A very small part of me had believed him, but only a small one. It was near impossible to find Sobek if he did not want to be found, my body twisting to chase the sun, feeling Bast’s nails idly needling against my skin. When I woke, it was to the feeling of hands lifting me, hanging limply as I stubbornly clung to sleep. A finger lightly scratching under my jaw made me crack one eye open to see Ibis smiling at me, his hand cradling my rib cage as he held me in front of his face. 

“You look well.’ He laughed when I yawned, showing the very bright pink tongue among a mouth full of sharp little teeth. “I’m very sorry for being a poor host earlier, but a story demanded to be written. Would you like to hear it?’

    The fur covering my body is still warm from the sun, forepaws resting on his wrist as I feel him pull me closer and affectionately bump the crown of his head with his nose. 

“Prrrt!’

“I thought you might.’ My body sways gently as he walks, still holding me in front of him. “Have you heard the story of the monstrous hound trapped inside Ursa Minor? No? Well let me enlighten you.’

    Even though he knows the story himself, when he sits down at his desk, Ibis drapes me across his shoulders and flips back a few pages to begin reading. His fingers lift to massage the hinge of my jaw, a low purr rumbling through my body as he speaks. I do not know this story, but I do recognize the name Zorya, nipping at the finger still scritching my jaw. 

“I thought that might catch your attention.’ His head tilts as I half pull myself, half trickle over his shoulder like water. He catches me and begins stroking from the base of my skull down my spine. “I’ve heard many things of late, that must be why this story came to mind.’

    Peering at the book, at his crisp writing, and the eloquent flow of the words themselves. I relax on his arm, kneading it, letting the pictures form in my mind, shifting only once as he moves further back in the book to read a story, and then another, and ano-

“It is time to eat!’ Anansi calls from the doorway, sauntering in but stopping just shy of touching the book in front of us. “And I refuse to wait on you two any longer. Ibis close the damned book, and you need hands and feet right now.’

    Long fingers reach out and grab the loose skin at my neck and lift me away from Ibis’ lap, giving my body a light shake as if he could use the pull of gravity to force my limbs to lengthen. Claws extending, I swipe at his arm, other legs tucking close to my belly as his narrowed eyes meet mine. 

“Hands. Feet. And so help me if you pull one thread out of place.’

    The buffed nails bite into my neck as my feet touch the floor, trying to shrug off his grasp, one hand lifted and swiping at his arm. 

“Better.’ His gaze skins over me briefly, lips twisting in a thoughtful moue. “Get a few more inches in the chest then go change into the clothes I left for you. And do not get distracted by Bast, you two can have fun later.’

    Taking in a breath and letting it out as I send him a less than amused look, Anansi laughs, patting the flat, planes of my chest. 

“Go on, I’m hungry.’

    Fingers lightly scraping through the loose tumble of curls on top of my head, I can hear him giving Ibis half an earful about being more hindrance than help as I leave the study. The stairs creak under my weight, the floorboards of the hallway too until I reach a bedroom with clothes laid out on the bed. The fabric isn’t as… loud as Anansi usually prefers, but rather muted. The difference between the earth coming alive after summer storms, versus everything baked away to still somewhat vibrant husks by the sun.

    I’ve only just picked up the boxers when hands move along my ribs, around to wrap arms around my middle. I recognize the touch immediately, looking over my shoulder to find Bast, one of her hands moving lower to wrap around my-

“No! I said it is dinner time! That can wait!’

“But I’m hungry for something else!’ She calls back, though her smile is more mischievous than carnal, letting go of me and motioning towards the clothes on the bed.

“You are  _ always _ hungry for something!’ He hasn’t climbed the stairs, and won’t, but his voice carries. “Let me tell you a story about an alley cat I met-’

    Rolling my eyes, I finish getting dressed while he tells his story, from the bottom of the stairs. Stepping into the slacks, I watch out of the corner of my eye as Bast sits on the bed in front of me looking over my form. It’s not as lean as I’ve been feeling recently, but the fit is snug and perfect, as can only be expected. Bast straightens the suspenders that curve over my shoulders, leaning in to kiss me with a smile playing over her lips.

    The story is winding down as we get to the bottom of the stairs, Anansi also making small adjustments before insinuating himself between us on the way to the dining room. He’s still making sure the moral of the story was understood as we sit down, filling our plates with food and getting comfortable. 

    I can feel Bast’s toes skimming along my shin idly as she counters the moral explained with something outrageously off. We all know she did it to get a rise out of Anansi, who is staring at her with a fork hovering in front of his mouth with a healthy amount of salad speared on the tines. It’s set down with the faintest of clinks, his long fingers threading together as he stares at her. Then the table shudders as he slaps his hand down on it, voice raised as he goes back over the story, the explanation, my eyes locked on him as he animatedly corrects Bast who is looking mildly offended.

“Thirsty?’

    Taking the beer from Jaquel without taking my eyes off the two of them, I can feel his chuckle as it rolls out into the room, Bast hisses in response. The words of their argument aren’t too important, not to me, I just enjoy the familial and familiar dinner play out as it does more often than not. When they finally resort to name calling in sharp hisses, Ibis and Jaquel intervene before curses start begin flying recklessly. Tossing a grape into my mouth, I bite down on it viciously, popping it to mingle with the savory taste of the meat juice that it had been resting in.

    Family was a very odd but appreciated blessing, I murmur to myself, quietly enough that only Jaquel hears. But the nod he responds with makes it clear he feels the same, the dinner table quiet until Ibis segues into a discussion of his newest added chapter for his book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anansi is honestly my fave but I really do adore the hell out of the African deities we were gifted with. Including the Egyptian trio


	9. Chapter 9

    I’m meant to remain in the delta, so for a few days at least I make myself busy to keep from wandering off. There is little patience in me for the mourning mortals who are wasting their time cursing whatever deity it is they follow. And after the sixth mortal I sent into hysterics by gently pushing them towards madness in their grief, I was not allowed near the chapel anymore. Which left me with either Jaquel as he serviced the corpses, or making sure the shipments of coffins were delivered and stacked properly in storage. Making sure that the hearse’s tank stays full to avoid any awkwardness.

    But when I come to myself one day I am walking, the rising sun warming my right shoulder, hands tucked in my pockets. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it won’t be the last, slowing to a stop as my head tilts back to stare up at the sky. I can hear a vehicle approaching so I step off the road, wondering how many have had to swerve around me before I came back to myself. Startled by a shimmer in the air that almost looked like a person but not quite. 

“You okay?’ Head lowering, turning, I can see a young man leaning across his van, bracing his weight on the passenger seat. “Look, no funny business, but do you need a ride, man?’

“I’m going to Chicago.’ 

“Okay, groovy.’ The door swings open, and I eye the seat and driver curiously. “I can get you to a bus stop in the city and you can find your way from there?’

“I don’t think I have any money.’

“Don’t sweat it, I’m headed that way anyways.’

    Climbing into the van, I close the door behind me still staring at the mortal who has begun to tell me what seems to be his life story. All in all he’s a terrible story teller, but he’s also up against gods who have been telling tales for thousands of years. It would take a very talented mortal to be able to meet that. But I am polite when it suits me, nodding occasionally, smiling when he smiles to make it seem like I care. 

    It is only after I climb back out of the van onto the sidewalk that I recognize an issue that has been niggling the back of my brain. While I am in Chicago, I do not know where in Chicago the Black God resides. Hands tucking into my pocket, I lean against the brick wall of the corner store. Feeling paper in my pocket, I pull it out and find Thoth’s carefully crisp font, smoothing it out and turning it rightside up. 

    Lips twitching with amusement, I stare down at an address. While it is possible that he is setting me up for a trick, the address could very well be correct. Reading the street name a few more times to commit it to memory, I shove the paper back into my pocket and start walking again. I will find the street eventually and then I will follow the numbers. 

    Humming a tune to myself, I dip and weave through the crush of humanity that occasionally tries to trap me or force me to lessen the length of my stride. To be fair I am only distracted twice during my wanderings. Once when a group of young mortals could be seen down an alley dancing to music coming from a radio hanging from the fire escape. I’d been intrigued and joined them for a bit, before dancing away. 

    Which lead immediately to the second distraction, a male my own height wearing a uniform stopping me as I danced down the sidewalk. He’d poked me in the chest as he spoke, and it took me a moment to realize that he was annoyed that I was enjoying myself. But my silence was apparently all that was required in the end, his shoulder slamming against mine as he finally left me alone. Mortals are…. odd. 

    Head tilted back, I stare up at the street sign, blinking away the drops of rain that had started falling… …. I can’t remember when it started to rain, but I don’t mind it much. Finally lowering my head, I look left, and then right. The numbers on the building are being difficult, turning left on a whim and peering at the buildings. There are less people on the sidewalks now, and those who are give me a wide berth to avoid bumping into me. Until someone doesn’t, smiling as I meet the hard eyed look of Zorya Vechernyaya.

“Hello!’ I chirrup, a raindrop rolling down my spine making me shiver. “Are you coming or going?’

“I am going to store, dinner needs to be made.’

    Sucking air sharply against her teeth, she walks around me and I turn to watch her go. Then follow because what else is there to do, I could keep searching or wait for her to lead me to where I’m wanting to go. She glances over her shoulder once, muttering under her breath as she sees me trailing just behind her. When she walks into the store, I’m on her heels, trailing behind her as she plucks things off the shelves. I come to an abrupt halt when she turns to face me suddenly, shoving things into my arms. 

“If you are going to be nuisance, at least be helpful.’ She mutters.

    Clumsily adjusting the items, I shrug. It is a small price to pay, shaking my head to rid my hair of the droplets that are clinging to my curls. Her ongoing grumbling is white noise in my ears, taking each item stacked on the pile in my arms as a matter of course. When she’s done I follow her to the register and dump them there for the cashier, smiling when the cashier stares at me open mouthed and then to Zorya Vechernyaya.

“Ma’am?’

“They are here for my brother.’ She answers, lips pursed as though she’s tasted something sour.

    But the cashier rings up the groceries and I take possession of the bags as they’re filled. The rain outside is hard, drops large and heavy as they come down and Zorya Vechernyaya mutters what sounds like a curse as she walks faster. Easily keeping up, I don’t bother looking around, landmarks are no longer important. I can feel shivers running along my skin and I’m not sure if it’s for the cool rain or anticipation. I’m also not sure if it matters either way. 

    As she turns the key in the lock, my head falls back to look upwards. The building is not as pretty as the funeral parlor. It is ugly brick and grimy from pollution, when the door opens it’s not much better inside. Carefully climbing the stairs, I avoid stepping on debris, by touch mostly as the groceries hinder my vision. She pauses outside the door, looking back at me as if annoyed that I’m there though she knew that I would be. 

“You are staying for dinner.’ 

    It’s not a question, more that she’s stating a fact she finds unpleasant, so I don’t answer. I wait for her to finish scowling at me, pausing only a moment before stepping inside the apartment behind her. It smells like his cigarettes and other things, and for a moment I stand in the entryway taking in their home. But she’s shoving at my arm to move me, closing the door behind me and pointing towards the kitchen. 

    I don’t like the kitchen, it lacks the warmth I am used to. Not from the use of ovens, but happy times that seem to soak into the walls, laughter that still echoes off the metal leaving it shining and ringing with it. Brow furrowing, I can’t help a disapproving scowl as she begins to take things out of the bags in my arms. Not aimed at her, but at the feel of the room, my shoulders rolling as I try to shake the feeling of wrongness.

“You will sit there.’ She pointed a bony finger towards a stool as she took the now mostly empty bags from me. “Sit and wait for dinner.’

    Perching on the stool, I rest the heels of my feet on the rungs, amused that my form is long enough it brings my knees up to a corner, arms crossing over my chest as I lean back to rest my ribs against the counter. Zorya Utrennyaya comes into the kitchen as I’m letting my mind wander, eyes half closed. She pauses, hands stacked in front of her, staring at me before moving towards her sister to whisper in her ear.

“I do not know why they are here. Ask them!’

    Slowly sitting upright, I watch as she flicks her gaze between me and her sister before tutting under her breath and helping to prepare dinner. As they cook I begin to understand why the kitchen is not as it should be. They are not good cooks, and they do not enjoy each other’s company as they do so. The knife is used like a weapon, the fire too hot as if to burn away the flavor. I can’t help being amused watching Zorya Vechernyaya dump root vegetables directly into the pot without rinsing them or making sure they are a similar size. 

    Intrigued by the scene playing in front of me, a tragedy to be sure, I almost don’t notice the vibrations I can feel through the stool. By the time it registers the door is opening and I can smell him, the smell of his coat wet from the rain, blood that stains the front of his shirt, the acrid smell of his filterless cigarettes. Head turning I wait, attentive and still until he walks to the kitchen’s entryway. He looks tired, and sullen, which is not unusual, and I watch him toss a paper wrapped package onto the counter. It lets out a squelching sound, the older sister turning immediately, ladle in hand raised. 

    But he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at me, brow furrowing as he takes his cigarette from his mouth. It’s hard to tell if he’s displeased that I’m here or not, so I don't move or speak. Zorya Utrennyaya is watching us both, making dumplings to add to the pot.

“I heard you were being punished.’ He says, grinding out the cigarette before lighting another. 

“I think father grew tired of shouting.’

    His grunt makes me smile, he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him. When my father grows angry he relishes the rage and basks in it for as long as possible. 

“You have come to stay for how long?’

    Shoulder lifting and falling in a shrug, he squints at me through the smoke that rises from his cigarette before shaking his head dismissing the question. Instead he turns his attention to the brown wax paper package on the island, yanking at the string to break it, unfolding it to show a large chunk of meat. Zorya Utrennyaya sighs, a short abrupt sound but finds a knife and begins cutting it into chunks. The movements are sloppy, the meat more butchered than serviceable, but it’s not my place to instruct since no one asked my opinion.

“Come, we let them cook.’

    I glance towards Zorya Vechernyaya, and she waves a hand at me, eyes rolling. Sliding off the chair, I follow him to the living room, eyeing the small square table in the middle of the room, sitting across from him when he straddles the chair on one side. Small pieces are dumped onto the board, and he sets up the pieces, cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth, ash falling onto the board that he absent brushes away. 

“You play?’

“No.’ I reach out to pick up a piece, rolling it along the pad of my thumb as I eye it before putting it back. 

“Do you want to learn?’ When I nod, there’s a flicker of a smile as he explains it. 

    The game is simple, the pieces move diagonally, and when one of the white pieces move in front of the black, they are jumped and removed from the board. Kings are two of the pieces stacked once a player reaches the other side of the board. Simple, easy, my hand moving a piece on the board. I lose, twice, very quickly, and I feel like I’m missing something as he resets the board. 

    Before we begin the third game, Zorya Vechernyaya announces that dinner is ready, and Czernobog stands from the game, head jerking in the direction of the dinner table as he does so. As the food is placed, I notice a fifth plate set, silverware gleaming, though they all begin to make their own plates without waiting. 

“When will your father be coming for you?’ The elder sister asks, pouring herself a shot before setting it down near Czernobog’s hand. 

“I don’t think he will.’ 

“And why not?’

“I think he’s grown tired of shouting.’ Even as I say this a second time, I know that there is a possibility that it’s true, though very slight. “He’s also not a fan of the cold.’

    My plate remains empty, not because I’m expecting them to serve me, I’m simply unsure what I should attempt to eat first. Finally putting small portions of all the dishes on my plate, I take a bite and feel Zorya Vechernyaya’s gaze attempting to bore into me. The texture is bad, and the taste is… odd, I finally decide, finishing that first but not hiding the fact I don’t like it from my face. 

“I am not a cook.’ She snaps at me. 

    Fork pausing just outside my mouth, I look up from my plate to her. “I am aware.’

“If you do not like it, do not eat.’

“It would be rude?’

    I can tell she’s angry, there’s redness in her cheeks, her eyes are narrowed and her teeth are bared. When her cutlery slams down on the table, I watch her curiously even as I try a bite of the next small mound of food. It’s not as bad as the first, though it needs better seasoning, chewing slowly as we hold eye contact. 

“In the old days we had servants that cooked for us, I did not have to dirty my hands doing simple things.’

“Sister-’

    Zorya Vechernyaya stops her with a sharp hiss, her thin fingers curling into talons against the tabletop. 

“They come to our city, follow me like rain sodden dog, then make faces as they eat our food.’

“Would you prefer I lie?’ I ask mildly, taking another bite of the food and chewing it. 

“I would prefer a more courteous guest!’ She snaps back at me, as I spear a piece of over cooked meat.

“The meal is filling and warm, Zorya Vechernyaya.’ I purr, snatching the soggy meat from my fork with a snap of my teeth. “I appreciate the work it took to make a meal when you are unaccustomed to such labors.’

    Her spine straightens as if I’ve slapped her, staring at me as I continue to eat the meal without another word, cleaning my plate with the bread purchased at the store. It is the only part of the meal that is what it should be, my silverware gently set down on my plate as I lean back in my chair. She can not fault my words or tone, I did as she asked because she is right. I am a guest, and it’s only polite to offer some sort of compliment when the host has fed you. Zorya Utrennyaya pours a small cup of coffee and slides it towards me, I see it out of the corner of my eye and lift it to sip as I continue to hold Zorya Vechernyaya’s gaze. 

“I do not like you.’

“I know.’

    She tsks, pouring herself another shot of vodka, drinking it, before standing abruptly and beginning to serve the empty plate. Curious, I watch as she does so, still sipping my coffee ignoring each clank of the serving spoon against porcelain as she dumps portions onto the plate as if offended she is doing so. When she’s done, she begins to clean the table, and I stand to help before being stopped by her venomous look. Slowly pulling my hand back, I try not to smile as she continues cleaning up while still glaring at me as if daring me to try again. 

“Stop poking her, solnyshka.’ Czernobog grumbles, snagging one more scoop of cabbage and meat in a greasy broth to dump on his plate. “Drink. The vodka is not as good as what we had in old country, but we make do.’

    If looks could kill, I think to myself as I reach out for her empty glass and pour myself a shot. I’m not sure what I’ve done to offend her, other than when I could not take my eyes off her and her sisters at the meeting. But she didn’t like me before that, something about being shameless, and I’m not sure why that’s a problem either. Why burden oneself with shame and guilt with eternity to look forward to?

    As she and Zorya Utrennyaya finish clearing the table, I eye the vodka before taking it. The taste is bitter, sharp, and I can’t help rubbing my tongue against the roof of my mouth. His laughter is harsh sounding, a raven’s croak as he watches me half stick my tongue out as if that will help chase the taste away. 

“Another, the more you drink, the better it tastes.’

“That cannot be true.’ I protest even as I pour another shot, watching his blunt nailed fingers wrap around the bottle and pour his own.

“Nyet, it is not, but with enough you do not care it tastes bad.’ 

“We shall see if that’s true.’

“Is good! Another game?’ When I nod, shuddering and making a noise of disgust at the taste of the vodka, his hand smacks the table hard before standing. “Maybe this time you win, hm?’

“If you drink enough, maybe I will.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t misunderstand I ADORE Zorya Vechernyaya. I just also happen to be absolutely in love with sass.


End file.
